


If Not for the Loupe-Hole

by SensorySolitude



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, Gen, Light Swearing, could be reader-insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24414682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensorySolitude/pseuds/SensorySolitude
Summary: What could've happened if there wasn't such a thing as the Loupe of Sincerity, AKA a more realistic way that Homare's arc could've been resolvedIncludes references to Homare's SR [About to Bloom] story, "Daydreams"
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	If Not for the Loupe-Hole

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Mankai urban legends as much as the next person, but I really wanted Homare to have some personal growth unrelated to finding a magical magnifying glass tbh. The other Winter Troupe members at least had someone else involved in their run-in with the other urban legends, and I'd have loved that for Homare because I love him too much oof
> 
> The narrator's personality isn't exactly the same as Izumi's (she's too cool for me to fully embody) so this could be interpreted as reader-insert or ooc Izumi. It's super self-indulgent, so the narrator's personality will be similar to my own. Maybe you can figure some things out about me through reading this :>

“Hey, Homare-san. I just wanted to check in with you again.”

The normally bombastic poet stood at the door awkwardly, not quite meeting my gaze. I didn’t expect him to be all smiles, but my chest still ached when I saw how down he was feeling.

“You need not concern yourself, Director-kun. You’ve done enough for me by sharing a drink with me and allowing me to share my troubles with you,” he said, while delicately fidgeting with the doorknob. 

_This is so unlike him,_ I thought sadly. Never thought I’d see the day when I’d miss his boisterous energy. Maybe getting him to focus on something else would lift his spirits. 

“Where’s Hisoka?” I asked. “I was hoping he found his way to his actual bed while we were at the bar, but you never know with him.”  
Taking a step forward onto the threshold, I peered into the room as best as I could around Homare. He sidestepped to allow me a better view and followed my gaze around the room. He seemed to slump a little, his bangs obscuring his eyes.

“I...do not know, truthfully,” he admitted. He pursed his lips. “I saw him on the couch in the lounge before we left, but did not feel it was my place to wake him, after what I said during practice. Perhaps Azuma noticed and invited him to his room, as he is a professional at comforting others…”

The hidden meaning behind his words stung as I remembered the story he told me at the bar. Although I didn’t know any details, the pain that haunted him was clear with each negative thing he said. A slight shiver ran through me, but not from the breeze blowing in from the crisp night at my back.

“Are you cold?”

Homare’s concerned voice pulled me from my thoughts. I was met with his piercing eyes and a frown on his face, his head tilted to the side slightly.

“Oh - it’s okay, no.”

My makeshift reassurance stumbled through my lips as I waved my hand in front of my face in dismissal.

“It’s-” I tried again, feeling embarrassment flush through me. “Uh, thanks for worrying about me, though.”

I smiled up at Homare. He looked away again. After a few heartbeats of silence I spoke up.

“I’m not cold, but could I come in anyways? It’s okay if not, since it’s getting pretty late,” I said. It was my turn to fidget, my hand reaching up to scratch my scalp. “I just thought you seemed like...you seemed like you could use someone to talk to some more after what we talked about earlier. But I understand if you wanna be left alone.”

There it was, the whole reason I’d come up to Homare’s in the first place. A vague feeling that had been nagging me ever since we came back from the bar that I did my best to ignore because _he’ll figure it out on his own,_ but I just couldn’t shake the memory of the defeated look in Homare’s eyes when he spoke so earnestly about how much he couldn’t connect with other people. So here I was, praying to whoever was listening that my gut feeling was right and he could use some more company, or at the very least I wouldn’t somehow make things worse.

Homare was uncharacteristically still. _Oh God this was such a mistake, abort, abort-_

Then he nodded, his long bangs swaying slightly.  
“That’s quite alright. Please, come in.”

\---

I padded into the dorm, hearing the door gently close behind me. After helping Homare and Hisoka move in, I’d never really been in their room long enough to get a good look at the place. What I saw was jarring.  


I remembered the simple, monochrome furniture that Winter Troupe and I picked out for Hisoka, but Homare’s side of the room was, for lack of a better term, pure chaos. He’d somehow found a dresser that looked straight from rococo Europe. Every furniture item featured fleurs-de-lis and other ornate details. All the upholstered furniture was made of extravagant brocades of various, unmatching colors. It was an assault on the eyes that only left me with more questions than answers.

Despite the vivacious decorations, the stillness in the air was tangible. The clouds of guilt that plagued Homare seemed to hang in the atmosphere too, filling the place wall-to-wall. I took slow, careful steps as if there was a beast lying somewhere in this cave of suffering.

A flicker of life caught my eye on the nearby desk as I sat in the plush red armchair offered to me by Homare. Despite the overhead lights being on, there sat a lone candle, brightly burning on the corner of Homare’s desk, which was scattered with piles of paper and writing utensils.

“What, it’s not light enough in here for you?” I teased, pointing at the candle as Homare was sitting down in a chair in front of me, identical in style except for the color. He looked over and smiled thinly. 

“I find it inspiring to write by candlelight, just as Shakespeare and the great writers of old did,” he said wistfully. 

I nodded, for once understanding where he was coming from. “Yeah, the flickering flame is kinda calming.”

He glanced at me, his smile widening into a true grin - almost. 

“What lovely alliteration. I’d love to read poetry written by you, someday.”

That got a laugh out of me. “Not in a million years. Besides, it wouldn’t be up to your levels of...avant-garde. You’d probably find it pretty boring to read a plebian’s writing”

Homare’s smile dropped into a frown. 

“That could not be further from the truth, Director-kun. I would be happy to see what your heart produces on paper.”

_Ah, dammit,_ I mentally scolded myself. My teasing definitely hit too close to home. I laughed a little, partially at my own stupidity.  
“Okay, on the off chance I ever write poetry, I promise I’ll show you,” I said with a smile. The wrinkle in Homare’s brow straightened a bit as he gave me a small, terse smile again. 

My eyes wandered as I thought of another topic of conversation. Despite all of the... _unique_ furniture, my eyes settled on something small, illuminated by the candlelight. An oxblood-red rose, standing on the desk in a narrow vase that I could only guess was genuine crystal.

“Do you like roses?” I asked, pointing at his desk once again. 

In an instant, it was like the seasons had changed. If he himself was stranded in winter, the moment Homare laid eyes on the beautiful flower, it was as if spring had come. The sun peeked through the doubt clouding his eyes. A wide smile cracked through the frozen plane of his face. Suddenly, he wasn’t just happy. He was _blooming_.

“Yes! Quite beautiful, are they not?” he asked excitedly. He was grinning ear to ear.

“Oh- yeah!”

But it wasn’t the rose I was admiring. 

He was so _radiant_. I thought back to what he said earlier that evening, as he set down his half-drunk beer.

“No one wants to form a heartfelt relationship with me.”

Tears of both joy and pain pricked my eyes.  
_Oh, Homare. Can’t you see? People do care about you. You’re surrounded by people who want to hitch along for the ride as you live this crazy, nonsensical life of yours._

“Oh, love, amore! A mystified signore! Red passionate, white pomegranate...a human surfactant!”

He gestured as he continued, his hair swishing around as he spoke with more and more intensity. Unlike usual, I was glad to let him ramble on while I marveled at the return of his normal self before my very eyes. I had to admit his energy could be quite captivating, even if it was directed towards things that were meaningless most of the time.

“ -Is it no wonder Shakespeare chose the rose as Juliet’s metaphor for Romeo? Just as it is no wonder that centuries prior, the rose was the symbol of Venus and Aphrodite…”

He trailed off amidst a grand sweep he was making with his arms. All of a sudden the ground had frozen over and winter had returned. A withering stem, he sat back down, his shoulders curling inward. As his hands fell back down to rest on his lap, so, too, did his glowing enthusiasm fall into an unreadable expression.

_...What just happened??_ My brain was reeling from the whiplash, but I didn’t have time to recover.

“How tragic...How utterly cruel of fate that I should favor such a flower,” Homare murmured, so much quieter than he’d been mere moments before. I had to lean forward off the edge of my chair to hear him. “The quintessential, universally understood symbol of love and devotion being admired by someone like me, who does not even understand others’ basic emotions. An unlovable, broken machine with whom no one will ever form a true relationship-” 

When his voice broke, I was struck by that horrible feeling.

That all-too-familiar feeling of wanting nothing more than to help someone, but realizing how utterly useless you are. When someone is feeling so awful that you can’t help but get swept up until their pain becomes your own and it claws its way through your chest, burning in its wake.

In that split second, a memory flashed in my mind of Homare stopping me in the hallway, grabbing my hand unexpectedly and pulling me in close, saying:

_“Whenever I am speaking from the heart, I like to peer into the eyes of the person I am speaking to from this distance.”_

Was that what he needed right now?

I moved before I could think. Driven only by the desperate desire to _help him_ , I saw myself reach across the small table between us, cutting him off with a hand on his arm. I felt a jolt of shock, which was mirrored in Homare’s expression, because _oh-my-God-I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-something-like-this._

I got a flashback to the horror and embarrassment I felt that day in the hallway, but I did my best to set that aside and leaned even further over the table, until we were face-to-face. My heart was racing at the closeness and prolonged contact but I had to keep going, for Homare’s sake.

“That kind of thinking isn’t just hurtful, it’s untrue,” I chided. I tried to be gentle but firm, but ended up sounding like a wavering mess. Homare just stared at me with eyes wide in awe - or maybe it was leftover shock. “Like I said before, all you have to do is talk to the rest of the troupe tomorrow. Apologize and just...just _talk_ to them more and they’ll understand you better.”

Homare gave me a confused scowl.

“I have been pondering your advice since we left the bar, but I still do not understand. What am I to talk about? As I stated previously, the minds of plebeians are a complete mystery-”

There it was again, that shockingly _blunt_ term he’d used earlier.

“...Director-kun?” 

I snapped out of my moment of annoyance and realized with horror that in my irritation I’d unconsciously squeezed the fabric of Homare’s sleeve tightly enough to whiten my knuckles.

I let go like I’d burned myself.  
“Shit, sorry!” I exclaimed while retreating, sliding back into my chair. My face was heating up unbearably. 

“It’s quite alright. I was merely surprised,” Homare quickly reassured me. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he shut his mouth again and waited.

Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this whole “giving advice” thing. I leaned against the cushy armrest, fidgeting with a loose thread, trying to calm down. Trying not to psych myself out of the situation I’d volunteered myself for. _I can’t be so reactive when I’m the one who wanted to talk in the first place, even if he is super condescending. But how do you explain how to_ talk _to people?_

“When you want to get to know someone, you can talk about a lot of different things,” I began. It felt weird to break down the steps of communication so simply, especially to an adult. “But in this case, it would be best to address the issue and apologize for upsetting everyone. Instead of just pointing out the problems we’ve been having, it might be good to focus on the positive and work with everyone to find solutions. And tell them what you told me: you have trouble understanding people’s emotions, but you want to.”

I paused to check in with Homare, who was intently listening. 

“‘Cause you _do_ want to, right?”

He tilted his head to think for a moment, his longer strands of hair brushing his shoulder.

“Yes,” he replied with quiet conviction. “I can think of nothing that has troubled me more in all my years of living.”

_Abrupt and intense as always_. Although I only laughed inwardly, the feeling bubbled up inside me and I couldn’t help but smile. Homare relaxed, mirroring me with a smile that finally reached his eyes.

“Then all you have to do is prove it,” I challenged.

Homare’s eyes lit up in the same way as before, in the way they always did when he was inspired to spout some off-the-cuff poem, but for the second time in my life, I didn’t mind. Instead of nonsensical poetry, the spark in his eyes was the herald of hope. I could’ve sworn I saw color return to his cheeks, his whole being uplifted by the warmth of a little compassion. The sight hurt my heart in the best way possible.

“That’s more like it, Homare-san,” I chuckled. “Gloomy moods don’t really suit you.”

I glanced at the clock, a mahogany piece adorned with Roman numerals, hung on Homare’s side of the room, of course. Goddammit, it was really late. I stood up in a panic.

“Ah - sorry, Homare, but I really should go now,” I apologized. “I should’ve known it was getting late, since it was already dark when I knocked on the door.”

Homare stood up, noticing the time himself.  
“Ah, you are correct! I sincerely apologize for troubling you so, Director. Let me make it up to you by walking you to your room,” he requested.

“My room’s just down the stairs!” I snorted a laugh. “Tch, you guys are always so worried about me, but I’ve been around Veludo Way longer than most of you”. I made my way to the door, Homare reaching across to open it for me. “Anyways, it wouldn’t hurt to think about what you’ll say to everyone tomorrow, but make sure you’ll go to bed soon. We still have rehearsal, and God Troupe to beat.”

I imagined Sakyo’s face during tax season as I tried to level my most intimidating glare at Homare. He just stared at me and chuckled, eyes crinkling.  
“While it might not instill fear into the hearts of hardened criminals, your scowl certainly shows your seriousness. I shall ponder your words awhile longer, but go to bed as soon as I can,” he promised.

My “Sakyo face” cracked as I couldn’t help but smile again.  
“Good, that’s just what I wanna hear,” I turned and started walking away.

“Ah, wait-!”

I felt a hand on my wrist and I turned back around. I was face-to-face again with Homare, but he looked unsure, like before.

“I wish for you to go to bed in a timely manner as well, but I had an inquiry,” he said sheepishly. I nodded.

“Might you be able to...inspire me some more tonight?”

“...What??”

“Although your encouragement has given me confidence, I still fear I will not be able to come up with the right thing to say to the rest of the troupe,” he said, looking off to the side, oblivious to the fact that the wrist he still held onto belonged to his now panicking director. “I thought that perhaps your presence could provide extra inspiration as I prepare notes on what I shall say tomorrow. It has been a long time since I wrote anything besides poetry, after all.”

I stared at him in confusion. Did he really want me to just sit there in the dark while he wrote notes by candlelight? Or, wait...Maybe he means-

“...You want me to help you?”

He was instantly annoyed, dropping my wrist and planting his hand on his hip.

“Hmph. You’re kind to be thinking of me, but I merely asked for inspiration. My words must come from my soul, and nowhere else!” he glared indignantly. “I simply thought that, well...you have provided me with inspiration ever since I first came here -in fact, my latest book of poems has pieces written with you in mind- so I thought that perhaps-”

“You wrote poems about me? And _PUBLISHED THEM?_ ” 

“Yes, of course!” he continued without missing a beat. If anything, he looked more annoyed, like I was the one being ridiculous. “The Mankai Company and everyone here have become part of my life now, so of course I have captured my feelings about all of you in poetry. I even wrote about Matsukawa. ‘Shabby-suited simpleton, suspiciously-’”

I felt a headache coming on. “Alright, alright. I’ll help- I mean, _inspire_ you, but not for too long. We have a big day tomorrow, like I said.”

“I knew you would see the privilege of inspiring a genius!” he boomed.

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s go back inside quick, so we can get this over with.”

“What was that?”

“...Nothing.”

As I followed Homare back into his dorm for the second time that night, neither of us noticed the shadow lurking in the courtyard. It sat and listened to snippets of our conversation that drifted through the closed door:

“As for Tasuku, how about something like-”

“...Homare. If you say that, he will punch you. Hell, even I’d be tempted.”

“...My apologies.”

An exasperated sigh. “No, it’s fine. Let’s rethink this, though. The reason he was upset-”

The shadow stirred.  


“Alice,” Hisoka muttered sleepily. “Just what are you up to?”


End file.
